It's late.
Jurate's gone to bed.
Mario and Milda have gone to dinner.
My motivation to study my meditation manual has expired.
I sit in the dark on my blue couch bed, newly acquired bright red sunburn bathing in the harsh light of my macbook pro.
If I read "simply favor the mantra" one more time, I'm going to...going to... umm.... good grief, I'm so zen right now that I can't think of any negative action. Perhaps I'll go ask Jurate for one of her oranges. If I read one more "simply favor the mantra," I'm going to eat an orange, dammit. Darnit. Gah. Perhaps I'll give "Deep Meditation" a break and write myself a blog.
Milda and Mario have been stupidly busy planning weddings ('tis the season), but they've still managed to make enough time to take us out and about for a few hours here and there.
It was beautiful to spend a few quiet moments in the nature again.
Mario drove to the UNESCO World Heritage town of Trogir where he and Milda sat "on" a coffee and Jurate and I had ourselves a wander. Originally founded in the third century BC, this quaint island town of thirteen thousand inhabitants is located twenty-seven km (look at me using km) north of Split. The Saracens wiped out the Greek colony in 1123, but Trogir bounced back (under new management) by the 13th century.
Like the rest of Dalmatia, it was owned by Venice for a rather long period of time. Then it passed on to the Habsburgs before it returned to the Italians (after a brief fling with France) during WWII.
It became a part of Yugoslavia after its liberation in 1944.
It became part of Croatia in 1991.
During our walk about, we popped into a shop for water and nuts. When I approached the counter to pay for my salty goodies, I felt my stomach sink into my knees as my hand sunk into my crumpler and came across camera, notebook, lens, pens -- but no wallet.
I never remove my wallet from my bag. Did it fall out during our yoga session in the park this morning? Did someone nab it during our walk through the winding alleyways of Trogir?
I smiled awkwardly at the friendly (confused) cashier and Jurate bought my nuts.
My wallet contains all my cash. 235 euros and just about 300 kuna. It holds (stupidly) all my credit cards, my license, my social security card... but not my passport. Where will I be if I don't find my wallet?
Well... I'll be here, of course. I'll be in Croatia with Mario, Milda and Jurate. Even if all the money is stolen from my bank account and I never see my wallet again, I still have my passport and the 500 euros my hosts are giving me for the retreat. 500 euros is more than enough to cover my final few months in Europe. My plane ticket from Amsterdam to Denver is already purchased -- which I can take because I still have my passport. I can probably work some odd jobs during the month I'm in Colorado and save up enough money for the bus from the border to Mexico City.
You you, I don't like credit cards anyway. The only reason I had them was to a) have enough credit to purchase things I can't afford (like a nice car or a house) and b) garner frequent flier miles. I don't want a house or a car and I'm trying to avoid flying. Perhaps this is the universe letting me know that it's time to let go of the credit cards.
Cool. I am now okay with losing my wallet. How long did that take, twenty minutes?
I found my wallet when we returned to the flat in Split; little bugger was surreptitiously hiding under the blue couch.
Well. Now I have my wallet. It's lovely to know that I can live without it. What can I learn from those few hours of "not having" my wallet, though?
I don't want or need credit cards.
What else don't I want or need? I surveyed my bag that is still capable of creating a masterful mess on the living room floor despite its relatively few inhabitants.
Is there anything I still own for vanity's sake alone? Is there anything I still own for nostalgia's sake alone? Is there two of anything where there could just as easily be one?
My eyes fell on my Venus razor and all the extra blades I'd brought with me from the States. My eyes drifted down to my unseemly cavewoman legs (which haven't seen a razor since the first week of March) and then to my slightly less unseemly armpits (which haven't seen a razor in about a week).
I'm okay with letting the leg hair grow. Why is armpit hair still so unthinkable for me? Why do I shave my underarms?
I pondered my pits for the next few minutes.
I shave because I'm ashamed. Ashamed of lifting my arms and being all unkempt and hairy (god forbid). I shave because I'm afraid of what people will think/say when they discover my furry, fuzzy underarms. Do I want my decisions to be made from a place of shame and fear? Is this harmonious with the person I believe I am? Is it consistent with my lifestyle, in general?
No. This is a dissonant chord. It's time I stop playing it. If I ever want to use razors again, it needs to be motivated from a desire to be hairless for the sake of being hairless and not because I feel ashamed of my hair.
"Hey Jurate, you need some razors?"
These beautiful alpaca wrist warmers from Germany... ach, sweet gestures are the hardest things to leave behind. But why do I have them? They're gorgeous, obviously. They help me to remember Billie (one of the kindest hosts I've ever had) and the time we spent together in Bad Muenster... but... I'm not in a place where I can afford the space for remembering. Memories must make me lighter, not heavier. I won't be in a cold climate for at least a year... should I let nostalgia weigh me down for that long? No. If something becomes heavy for me, I need to find someone for whom it weighs nothing. Whose life it simply enhances.
"Milda, do you want some sublimely soft wrist warmers?"
This pair of shorts is superfluous. This black skirt is superfluous. My sarong can fulfill my needs just fine.
Sarongs truly are one of god's greatest gifts to nomads.
My credit cards. Entirely unnecessary and contradictory to the life I live.
"What? You're cutting up your cards!" Jurate watched in surprise as plastic flew left and right.
"I don't believe in relying on fake money. Something that doesn't exist. I don't believe in backup plans should everything go terribly awry. I'm trying not to believe in plans at all. Plans are for the future and I want to get to a place where I believe in my heart as much as my head that the future doesn't exist. For me, these credit cards hold money that doesn't exist for a future that doesn't exist."
So why carry them? I think it's so often that our heaviest burdens are the things we imagine to be real. The heaviest burdens are comprised of fear and guilt. Guilt is about the past. The past is our wake, not our person. Fear is about the future. The future doesn't exist and only serves as an escape from the present.
We breathe life into fear and guilt when we accept them into our lives as necessary burdens. As part of the human condition.
Must they be part of the human condition?
What would I carry if I had no fear?
What would I carry if I had no guilt? No shame?
Every place I go, my bag becomes more buoyant. Every step I take, my life gets lighter.
I'm not just losing my possessions. I'm losing my fear.
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